Read Online A Spy for the Redeemer by Candace Robb - Free Book Online Page A

dagger was loose in its sheath, then took a torch from the wall and made for the hall door, which groaned against the bar. ‘Holy Mary, Mother of God, have mercy on this sinner,’ Michaelo whispered as he tried to unbar the door; but the pressure from the other side made it difficult to move. If he put the torch in the sconce beside the door and used both hands to work at the bar, he would be momentarily unarmed when whoever was pressing against it fell through. He cringed at the thought of the weight of the door and the body against him. His neck prickled with sweat. He reasoned with himself that he would have his dagger; but that was a weapon of finesse, not force. Yet what choice did he have?
    Michaelo put up the torch, put both hands to the bar, pushed it towards the door and tried to shove sideways. It did not move. He stepped back, rubbed his hands, took a deep breath, grabbed the bar, tried just shoving it sideways. It moved a few inches, then stuck. Now he put his whole body into pressing against the force being brought against the door. But it was suddenly lessened. The bolt slid easily. Taking a deep breath to quiet the violent hammering of his heart, Michaelo laid the bolt aside, grabbed the torch, opened the door. A body fell in. Michaelo thought he was about to choke on his heart. He forced himself to bring the torch near the body at his feet.
    Daimon. Blood covered his head. Part of his tunic was scorched. Michaelo grabbed a shoulder of the young steward’s tunic with his free hand and dragged him further into the hall. Then he knelt to him, checked for a pulse. Deo gratias . He lived. Even now Daimon tried to open his eyes, blinked at the bright light from the torch, muttered something unintelligible.
    ‘Do not try to move,’ Michaelo said. ‘I must see to the door, then I will get help.’
    He peered out of the door. The fighting seemed to have stopped. He paused with the door halfway shut. A sword glittered in the courtyard mud. Why leave a weapon for the outlaws? Michaelo made a dash for it. But he was too slow. Someone came up from behind, knocked him aside. Michaelo fell headlong, losing his grasp on the torch. He could just see booted feet dash past, a hand grab the torch, another hand the sword. The boots then continued on towards the stables.
    Propping himself up on one arm, Michaelo looked round the courtyard. Finding himself alone, he dared to stand. Sweet Jesu, but his hip hurt. He hobbled back to the hall door, discovered it had closed behind him. He was certain Daimon had not managed that. He pushed. Pushed harder. He could not believe it. Barred from within. He pounded on the door, shouting, ‘Mistress Wilton! Tildy! It is Brother Michaelo. Let me in!’ He put his ear to the door, heard nothing. Perhaps they were too busy tending Daimon. He prayed that was so. Still, why did they not respond?
    He turned round, leaned against the door, took a deep breath, let his eyes become more accustomed to the dark. Clouds of smoke hung over the gatehouse. He must not go that way. Round the back? See whether the rear door to the hall had been barred?
    Lucie and Tildy had managed to get Daimon into the chapel just before the strangers rushed through the hall door. Before Lucie closed the chapel door she saw three figures enter the hall below, one carrying a lantern not quite shuttered.
    ‘They will burn the house round us!’ a maidservant whimpered.
    ‘They have killed him,’ Tildy moaned, bending over Daimon.
    Lucie shushed them as she leaned against the door, trying to hear where the three had gone. But the walls were too thick.
    ‘Let me go to them,’ Phillippa whispered at Lucie’s side. ‘I shall give them what they want.’
    ‘Help Tildy with Daimon.’
    ‘But –’
    Lucie crossed her arms, positioned herself in front of the chapel door. ‘See to Daimon.’
    *
    As Michaelo came round the back of the house he heard a horse whinny. Flattening himself against the wall, he searched the